


Repetitive Noise

by jerseydevious



Series: CEC Shorts [3]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen, a hopeless amount of platonic affection, audrey let me play with her toys again, cor et cerebrum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-25 17:30:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18169070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jerseydevious/pseuds/jerseydevious
Summary: Dev is sick and stuck on a couch, and as it would turn out, having Batman for a friend can be useful sometimes.





	Repetitive Noise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [audreycritter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/gifts).



> I wrote another thing for @audreycritter who graciously allowed me to write her very own boy, Dev.

Gotham City had always been intent on throwing everything it could at him; the  _ ratatatatatat _ of guns firing, bodies on top of bodies, the tang on the roof of Bruce’s mouth when the fear toxin settled in, the musty smell of twisting vines as they closed around his throat, the ash—oh God, the ash. Some days  _ all _ he could smell was fire and ash, sometimes the days would stretch into weeks until he wondered if he’d ever know anything else—and like waking, the smell would dissipate, and he could breathe again, a sort of waking bad dream. So Bruce knew a nightmare when he saw one. 

 

Dev was perfectly still, curled beneath the blanket Bruce had tossed over him four hours ago; then, he’d been delighted to find Dev resting. Dev had been coughing for days, and was stubbornly refusing to listen to even Alfred’s most pointed glares—if he hadn’t fallen asleep on the couch, Bruce would’ve stepped in and demanded Dev stay the night. (It likely would not have gone over well.) 

 

But now Dev was still, frozen, almost, scarcely breathing—his legs had curled up to his chest, protectively.  _ Protectively. _ Cass huddled like that. Jason, too. Damian. Bruce’s heart thudded like a hammer against his sternum and he swallowed back a wall of white, steel silent rage, the kind where he could tear each and every one of a man’s teeth out and not care at all. 

 

There was no gentle way to bring Dev out of it, so Bruce prodded Dev in the shoulder. If possible, Dev grew stiller. 

 

“Breathe, Dev. It’s me.”

 

There was an exhale from beneath the blanket, which spiraled into loud, wet coughs, made all the worse by the fact that Dev was on his side. 

 

“Ease up,” Bruce said, scooping an arm beneath Dev’s shoulder and leaning him back on the couch. Dev was coughing too hard to protest—his hands were shaking too badly to cover his mouth, even. He looked drawn, worn. 

 

Bruce knelt down in front of Dev, cupping his knee. His thumb drew casual circles into the fleece—turtle pajamas. A small wonder, because Bruce had thought he’d ruined two pairs of these same pants already. 

Dev’s coughing turned into wheezing, then gasping. His mouth moved to form words that wouldn’t come out. 

 

“Slow down,” Bruce said, softly. “Easy. Easy. Breathe in when I say so. Keep breathing until I tell you to breathe out. Ready? In. M-i-s-s-i-s-s-i-p-p-i. Out.”

 

Dev’s eyes were dull. They managed to focus on Bruce anyway and Bruce walked him through breathing for a few more minutes. Eventually Dev’s breathing evened out, save the occasional coughing spell. Bruce leaned his forehead against Dev’s knee, as if by maximizing physical contact, he could force Dev to feel better.

 

“He killed me,” Dev rasped. Bruce didn’t move his head, didn’t dare breathe. “In the dream. When I, when I hit him. Busted my—my bloody head open, again.”

 

Deep breath through the nose. The rage, ever present, nipping at the insides of his wrists, down the back of his neck, he could feel the bellow of it in him. Mr. Devabhaktuni would get justice, and if blood colored the walls, after; if blood colored the walls, then that would be justice. That would be the end that justice had decided. 

 

“My flat. I should… get back to my—”

 

“If you even think of getting off of this couch for the next for hours I’ll tie you to it,” Bruce said, raising his head. He stared Dev directly in the eye as he said it.

 

Dev’s brows pinched together. “You taught me how to escape restraints, you wanker.”

 

Bruce looked at him seriously. 

 

Dev swallowed. “Right. Batman. I suppose my arse is spoken for, then.”

 

“Unless you’re considering moving to a bed,” Bruce said. 

 

Dev shook his head too quickly for Bruce’s liking. “I’m alright, you sodding _ —er— _ hover-horse.”

 

“Did you just say hover-horse?”

 

“Don’t you ever sodding tell anyone or I’ll use glow-in-the-dark sutures next time.”

 

Bruce threw his head back and laughed. When the laugh was winding down, he wiped his eyes. Dev had crossed his arms, looking surlier than ever. 

 

“Just make fun of the one who can’t get off his sodding arse, that’s—” but Dev’s voice was interrupted by a coughing fit, one bad enough Bruce found himself rubbing Dev’s knee and murmuring  _ you’re alright, you’re safe, you’re with me, you’re with Batman,  _ the way he did for fire victims. 

 

At the end of it tears were sliding out of the corners of Dev’s eyes. “Sodding fuck,” he whispered, clutching at his chest. 

 

Bruce rose and leaned forward, swiping the tears from Dev’s face with a thumb. His other hand pressed against Dev’s heart, feeling the rapid-fire  _ thudthudthudthud _ of it, feeling nearly overwhelming relief Dev was alive and his father hadn’t ended his life after all. “Here’s what I can do for you,” Bruce said. “I can carry you to the nearest bed. You stay there and tough this thing out. We get some medicine in you, I bring you whatever Alfred makes for breakfast.”

 

“And if—if I say ‘sod the hell off, Wayne’, then?”

 

“I’ll stay here with you the rest of the night,” Bruce said. “But between you and me, Alfred’s making pancakes tomorrow. I wouldn’t say no.”

 

Dev looked down at his hands. “Compelling argument, mate.”

 

Bruce shifted on his feet, leaned over, and hauled Dev into his arms. 

 

Dev squawked and coughed. “I wasn’t _ —hrk— _ sodding prepared, you wanker, you—”

 

“Just enjoy the ride,” Bruce said. He frowned to himself, because a man Dev’s size ought to be heavier, and he thought maybe Dev needed those pancakes a little more than previously thought.

 

At the first guest room, Bruce eased Dev on the bed, opting to fetch more blankets to put over top of him than worry about using the comforter currently on the bed. It would be an exhausting amount of maneuvering for Dev, who was already flagging. He propped up a mound of pillows while Dev leaned forward, and after that, Dev flopped back, boneless.    
  


“I’ve had,” he wheezed, “ruddy enough.”

 

Bruce tilted his head. Something about that word sounded odd. “Have I heard you say that before?”   
  


“What?”

 

“Ruddy. Have I heard you say it.”

 

“I s’ppose not. My da said it a couple times, here an’ there.” 

 

“Your father is a monster,” Bruce said, vehemently. “I’ve sent men to Gordon for less.”

 

But it didn’t matter; Dev had fallen asleep, head tilted to the side and mouth hanging open. Bruce bent down and kissed Dev’s crown, as if that physical touch could make up for a childhood deprived of it, and sat on the edge of the bed. If Dev was going to have nightmares, Bruce figured he should at least be watching.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it was legible, understandable, and also enjoyable!


End file.
